Chapter Text
The day was grey. Large, dark clouds covered the sky, gloomily threatening the city of Trost with rain. It was the time of year when the sun had done its bit and the town was stuck in the transition between warm and frozen weather.
It was a melancholy day, thought Armin Arlert, as he passed through the town market. A leather satchel holding a good amount of medical papers and other important texts he was required to read for school was slung over his shoulder as he made his way past vendors and customers purchasing bread, vegetables, and sweets. He was heading towards a meeting with a member of a secret society that was stationed in Trost. Medical students were put in contact with them, usually, because they had no choice. It was essentially a rite of passage. An unavoidable one, if you were good at what you did.
Trost University was one of the only universities in the country that offered courses in medicine and Armin was one of the few lucky attendees, thanks to a year and a half of brutal preparation for the entrance exam. Currently he was sitting in the top half of his class, progressing well, and getting ready to move onto the next stages of education. And that’s why Armin was on his way to the Church of St. Maria to meet with someone called Jaeger.
From market square, it took Armin approximately ten minutes to get to the church. It was a large, stone building, with an unwelcoming red door that led into the sanctuary. Armin had been here before, but it hadn’t felt this bleak. Maybe it was the nature of the meeting he was about to attend that did it, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t like it either way.
Cautiously, he started towards the door, dreading the moment his hand would make contact with the peeling, red paint to push it open. Something about this entire situation made him feel like he was suffocating, and he wished he could just go back to his hall of residence where he knew a warm fire and mug of tea would be waiting for him.
Armin’s fingers barely grazed the doors rusting, iron handle before it swung open suddenly, revealing another person. This person looked to be about Armin’s age. He had dark brown hair, and a lot of dirt smudged across his face, like he had been playing around in mud. In his hands was a small, sprouting plant nestled in a terracotta pot, which probably explained the dirt – though it looked like there was more dirt on the boy’s face than in the actual pot. Funny how that worked.
Armin must have been staring, because the messy boy’s first words were: “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”